


Summit

by LordessMeep



Series: Summit [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Hinata Does Not Go Pro, M/M, Photographer Iwaizumi Hajime, Pro Volleyball Player Kageyama Tobio, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru, Unrequited Love, Watching Sunrises and Being Philosophical, lots of feelings, mt. fuji, post university
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:49:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9310103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordessMeep/pseuds/LordessMeep
Summary: Shouyou has seen his fair share of sunrises – a result of overnight training camps and staying up too late – but it’s never been like this, never been from the top of the world before. Dimly, he thinks about the thirst of his youth, the obsession to see the view on the other side of the court at the very peak of a jump. He couldn’t do that alone but this he can, this is constant, this makes his head feel heavy, his breath catch.Volleyball is a sport of height. It is absolute that tall players are strong, no two ways about that. Shorter players need to compensate with other tactics; strengthening each player is a strength and finding new ways to fight is one too. Shouyou had firmly believed that he’d found his place in the sky, when he jumped as high as the taller players, ran faster than anybody else, drew out every last bit of energy he had to offer to stay on the court.But, well. Volleyball is a sport of height and the National team had no need for Little Giants when others could suffice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the opening of Season 03 Episode 01 (00:00 to 01:29), with Hinata reciting his usual opening, "A tall, tall wall looms before me." (or, in Japanese - "目の前に立ちはだかる、高い高い壁")
> 
> Songs from Haikyuu!! OST Season 01 that served as background music when writing this include (links open a YouTube video):  
> [頂の景色 or "The View from the Summit" - Vol. 1, Track 1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b2t7dEA16s0&list=PLtYTKcRzsHhet0KM4BPNhPcMJUYZgIOhE&index=1)  
> [目標 or "Goal" - Vol. 1, Track 19](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YjO4M7wPf-U&index=19&list=PLtYTKcRzsHhet0KM4BPNhPcMJUYZgIOhE)  
> [大人たち or "Adults" - Vol. 2, Track 3](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TF_Lyr5o5Z0&index=30&list=PLtYTKcRzsHhet0KM4BPNhPcMJUYZgIOhE)  
> [本音 or "True Feelings" - Vol. 2, Track 25](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_KmAV3pAa0Q&index=52&list=PLtYTKcRzsHhet0KM4BPNhPcMJUYZgIOhE)
> 
> It'd be awesome if you could listen to any of these when reading, but it's cool if you don't want to. :)
> 
> Set in the year 2020. Please note that Haikyuu is presumed to take place in the year 2013 ([taken from this tumblr post](http://hawling.tumblr.com/post/110480546726/haikyuu-timeline-2013)) and the timeline of this fic has been constructed keeping that in mind.
> 
> Also, minor warning for like two curse words. That's it.
> 
> EDIT (22/01/17): Fixed a tiny chronological error.

*

Shouyou vibrates in place out of sheer excitement. It could be the cold too; it was hard to tell.

He wants to scream. He wants to cry too.

“And here I thought you would be more excited.”

Iwaizumi ruffles the hair peeking out of Shouyou’s toque, his large hand resting at the nape of Shouyou’s neck as he comes to stand beside him. Shouyou nods and swallows hurriedly.

“It’s just…” he tries but he can’t say much more, far too overwhelmed.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi’s chuckle is fond as he settles his backpack down and begins setting up his equipment. Shouyou jolts and grabs for his own pack, withdrawing the set of lenses that Iwaizumi had entrusted to him.

The weather is perfect, Shouyou thinks, as he looks out at the night sky. It’s three in the morning, some eighty five minutes to sunrise if the forecasts are right. The crowds are thankfully thin and free of tourists, given that they had chosen to climb up here in mid-June now, and Iwaizumi is at ease, breathing evenly as he sets up his camera, adjusting the aperture and taking a few test shots here and there.

“Oi, smile,” Iwaizumi demands, pointing the lens in Shouyou’s face. Shouyou obliges, giving him the best sunny grin he can muster, despite the chattering teeth. In the dim light, Shouyou can see the corners of Iwaizumi’s mouth lift in return, almost involuntarily, before the flash blinds him.

“Ow…” Shouyou immediately slaps his gloved hands to his face and Iwaizumi laughs, apologizing.

“Forgot to turn that off, sorry,” he explains with laughter in his voice.

“Why would you do that to meee?” Shouyou whines and Iwaizumi laughs again, the sounds of the shutter clicking punctuating it.

By the time Shouyou can see again, Iwaizumi has settled on the benches, camera looped around his neck with a lanyard and tugging off his gloves with his teeth. A couple of other enthusiasts sit in a line, all of them talking and chatting lightly, but their eyes are fixed on the horizon. Iwaizumi is quiet, almost meditative even, as he looks too.

Shouyou takes a seat on the wooden slats next to him for the vigil and settles in for the wait.

Patience is a skill Shouyou has gotten to hone over the years succeeding high school. He’s born to run – perpetually restless in more ways than one – and sitting still just doesn’t suit him. But, the scenery keeps him pinioned – _cumulus fractus_ , thick and white, with the Tokyo skyline - brightly lit up, despite the late hour - peeking through the fractured clouds and the dawning breaking slowly, shading the sky from a deep black to an azure blue, right over the horizon. He turns his head upwards and an involuntary exclamation spills out of his mouth because, he can see the stars, dotting the landscape of the sky.

He’d forgotten about the stars.

He hasn’t been home, back in Miyagi, in over a year, he realizes. The light pollution near his house, over the hills from Karasuno, had been lesser and he remembers taking a blanket out with Natsu in the peak of summer, then laying back and connecting the stars to form unicorns (for Natsu) and volleyballs (Shouyou).

Nostalgia bubbles up, but Shouyou tamps it down, eagerly fixing his eyes on the horizon instead. He doesn’t want to think about the past right now. Of course, the still horizon can’t keep his attention for long, so Shouyou looks out of the corner of his eye and rests his gaze on Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi looks calm as he takes in the scene before him, his fingers toying with the lens cap. He is deep in thought, Shouyou recognizes from experience – he inhabits some quiet corner of his mind, relegating the ambience and the joking and laughing people around him to so much white noise; very similar to what he was wont to do before a match. Shouyou often volunteered to fetch him, their captain, before matches were about to start and Iwaizumi would sit outside on the hallway benches, head tipped back against the wall, posture loose and breathing even.

Shouyou had asked him once; the purpose of the exercise, but Iwaizumi had simply ruffled his hair and given him a fleeting smile, before pushing him towards the gyms.

He’s not an enigma, not really. In the five years Shouyou has known him, he’s fairly easy to read. It’s only some times, times like these, when he goes silent and retreats within himself, that Shouyou really can’t tell what he’s thinking about.

Except – there’s a flash of a smile, fleeting, and Shouyou knows what he’s thinking about.

He looks away to give Iwaizumi an illusion of privacy. Something about the way he looks like that, with that smile – rueful, melancholy and steeped in a longing that _ached_ – always makes Shouyou feel like he’s seen something he’s not supposed to see, despite the fact that it couldn’t have been more than a second or two.

The horizon though, it is now a line of blood orange, the sky transitioning from orange to yellow to pink to indigo the higher his line of sight goes. The clouds below them have gathered and thickened and, at this point, it gives an illusion of a sea, the way the white puffs weave and dip and curve, subtle and gentle, like a calm sea in the afternoon. Though he logically recognizes that, as fluffy as they look, the clouds won’t actually hold his weight, he wishes they would.

The shutter goes off beside him and Iwaizumi is taking pictures.

Shouyou watches him work out of the corner of his eye, occasionally glancing back to the horizon. Iwaizumi is focused and it feels like he’s seeing something else through the viewfinder, something more in this breathtaking view from the top of the summit.

He is tempted to ask, because this isn’t the first time or even the fifth time that Iwaizumi has scaled Mount Fuji to witness the _goraikou_ – arrival of the light, as the sun dawns over the country – but, the way he’s snapping away, it’s like he’s seeing it all anew, all over again.

“Don’t you already have a lot of those, Iwaizumi-san?” Shouyou enquires anyway, because his self-control is non-existent. There is a brief pause after the shutter goes off again and Iwaizumi exhales a huff of amusement.

“Doesn’t hurt to have a few more,” he answers. A glance shows Iwaizumi’s hands twitch around his camera, his brow furrowed like he wants to say more. Shouyou faces forward when Iwaizumi talks again.

“Depending on the light,” he starts, words measured, “I can get different photographs. No two days are completely similar and neither are any two photographs, especially of landscapes. The clouds will be different, the colors across the horizon will be different, because nothing remains constant.”

Shouyou hums in response and looks at him out of the corner of his eye.

“I didn’t get any of that.” He tells Iwaizumi with a smile and Iwaizumi taps the back of his head with his knuckles, softly.

“Idiot.” He says without real heat and Shouyou automatically covers his eyes when Iwaizumi turns the camera towards him.

“Not getting me a second time, Iwaizumi-san, nuh-uh,”

“I’ve turned off the flash,” Shouyou can _hear_ him rolling his eyes, judging by the lilt of his voice, “Now let me take a picture of your stupid face.”

Shouyou slides his hands down his face, peeking through his fingers.

“Have you really?” he asks, still suspicious. In response, Iwaizumi presses the shutter release and a pointed sounding click resounds between them.

No flash blinds him this time, so Shouyou reluctantly withdraws his hands and tucks them under his arms, back where they belong. He makes a face at Iwaizumi out of principle and Iwaizumi snorts, but he doesn’t stop taking photographs.

He’s always insisted, even back in Tohokudai, where he was a third year student of sports sciences and Shouyou had just entered the volleyball club on scholarship, prepared to dive in head first into his degree in education. He says that Shouyou is a dynamic subject and that his energy and exuberance seep into the pictures, breathing life into his photographs. It flatters Shouyou, though he secretly thinks it’s just because Iwaizumi is a good photographer.

Ignoring the clicks, Shouyou turns back to their view and then gasps.

“Oh my God,” he exclaims, his mouth dropping open.

Iwaizumi lowers his camera and Shouyou can hear him shifting to follow Shouyou’s line of sight. He is smug when he answers.

“Told you,” he remarks and Shouyou nods, his mouth crinkling and jaw tightening.

It’s not much – just a pinpoint of light peeking through the clouds. Shouyou has seen his fair share of sunrises – a result of overnight training camps and staying up too late – but it’s never been like this, never been from the top of the world before. Dimly, he thinks about the thirst of his youth, the obsession to see the view on the other side of the court at the very peak of a jump. He couldn’t do that alone but this he can, _this_ is constant, this makes his head feel heavy, his breath catch.

Volleyball is a sport of height. It is absolute that tall players are strong, no two ways about that. Shorter players need to compensate with other tactics; strengthening each player is a strength and finding new ways to fight is one too. Shouyou had firmly believed that he’d found his place in the sky, when he jumped as high as the taller players, ran faster than anybody else, drew out every last bit of energy he had to offer to stay on the court.

But, well. Volleyball is a sport of height and the National team had no need for Little Giants when others could suffice.

It was safe to say that his optimism had taken a fatal blow that day.

Over the horizon, the tiny circle of light makes its slow ascent. Shouyou watches it, intent.

It’s not that Shouyou hadn’t tried out for the team again, but there’s something soul-crushing about being told that your height isn’t enough, despite him being unable to control it. Shouyou is no stranger to ripping past limits, except this was the one he couldn’t overcome, no matter how much he tried. His other trials, stretching between the ages of nineteen and twenty two, had gone exactly as lackluster, uninspired. Too many spikes that didn’t connect, blocks that weren’t successful, receives that were dropped. Shouyou had thought he’d gotten used to the nerves, but apparently not.

(Well, there was one trial that had gone better than the rest, when he’d been in the same team as him and they’d sunk in five consecutive quicks because the synchrony had been perfect, synchrony, that was a product of six years of playing, living, _breathing_ together; but Shouyou doesn’t like to think about that.)

The first rays of light cut through the clouds and Shouyou is suddenly aware of how _small_ he is – a strange revelation for someone who has been dwarfed all his life. The humdrum of his life, back down in Tokyo – living out of his compact 1LDK, spending a majority of his day at the tiny private school, coaching high schoolers larger than him and basking in the rare moments of breakthroughs – seems far away and positively insignificant.

It’s oddly calming.

Shouyou gathers his legs, folding them at the knees and wrapping his arms around his calves to hunch over. His chin rests on the top of his knees and beside him, the steady clicking stops. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Iwaizumi lower his camera to rest it in his lap and he looks out to the horizon.

That same telling smile insinuates itself on his face and Iwaizumi scrunches his eyes together tightly, shaking his head as if to dislodge his present thoughts, and then turns his attention back to the rising sun after an even exhale.

Shouyou knows the facts – best friends since childhood, practically inseparable, knowing each other like the back of their own hands. It was the sort of relationship everyone was acutely jealous of and for good reason. Fate had sent them their separate ways – Oikawa to the infinite opportunities of Tokyo and Iwaizumi remained behind in the steady waters of Sendai.

Shouyou had thought him amazing. Iwaizumi was the model senpai – the perfect mix of reliability, encouraging guidance and unwavering strength that tugged people back in line. He commanded respect without really trying, mostly because he never actually tried. He was fair and just, brash when needed, and impossible to dislike.

It was an unsaid rule to never mention Oikawa in front of Iwaizumi – something Shouyou found out the hard way in his second week of being admitted into the Tohokudai volleyball club and his innocent question had prompted shushing from Daichi, a tiny side-to-side nod from Aone and Nishinoya hurriedly talked over him, leading Iwaizumi away from Shouyou.

He didn’t understand why. His blasted curiosity sought an answer but he sealed his mouth, taking Hitoka’s advice to keep out of people’s private matters.

Then, after their disastrous loss in the quarter finals at the Inter-Collegiate Nationals in his second year – given that Nishinoya’s broken pinky finger left them short a libero and weakened their back line defense terribly – Shouyou accompanied Iwaizumi to the hospital to check on Nishinoya. Their ordeal had Iwaizumi nudging Shouyou in the side and offering to take him and Nishinoya to a post-match meal.

They’d ended up at a ramen ya, Nishinoya silently tucking into his tonkotsu and Iwaizumi nursing a highball with his bowl of shouyu. Shouyou had refrained from making conversation himself, but Iwaizumi tried to keep a dialog going anyway. Eventually, Shouyou had called on Aone, and Nishinoya had left for their inn after being forced into a huddle and sternly told that it wasn’t his fault.

Shouyou wasn’t ready to go back and neither was Iwaizumi, so they’d hit a convenience store and bought out a couple of those tiny bottles of whisky and made their way to the park nearest from JR Tokyo General Hospital, taking over a bench and passing the whisky between them to keep warm.

Through the topics they scrolled through, they carefully avoided talking about their loss, the end of Iwaizumi’s captaincy and their respective trials for the National team.

Perhaps Iwaizumi was drunk enough, Shouyou doesn’t remember all too clearly, despite the fact that he’d just had enough to feel embers stir under his skin. What he does remember is Iwaizumi under the faint lamplight, eyes glittering, unseeing, and his lips lifting in that infuriating smile, so self-deprecating and full of longing, Shouyou felt his stomach bottom out in commiseration.

“Never fall in love with your best friend,” he advised, too intense to be sage, “Never go so deep that you can never hope to crawl out, alright?”

Shouyou only nodded, because, he wasn’t sure how to say _Too late_ in return.

Iwaizumi settled then, taking another gulp from his bottle and looked out into the darkness, utterly silent.

Shouyou gave him his moment, then Iwaizumi’s phone rang and he was fumbling with the screen. Shouyou took the call, even as Iwaizumi slurred in the background, telling the caller to leave him the fuck alone. Shouyou, torn, dictated the address and promised to send the GPS location anyway, despite the fact that Iwaizumi was giving him his strongest frown.

Oikawa arrived some minutes later, still in his Chuo jersey and a touch out of breath, as if he’d run all the way here. The way Iwaizumi’s face lit up, right before it was shrouded over with a mixed up mess of melancholy and want and then finally settled into his customary gruffness, Shouyou couldn’t forget it, couldn’t keep the knowledge from clicking in place and he thought, _Oh_.

Oikawa poked and prodded, tried to elicit Iwaizumi into snapping back, and that’s how Shouyou realized that he was trying to cheer Iwaizumi up. Iwaizumi did hit him out of annoyance once, but Oikawa dodged it easily, a warm smile lighting up his face – completely unlike the usual smirks and sneers Shouyou was accustomed to.

“Help me take your drunk captain back, Chibi-chan,” Oikawa said in a lilting tone and began shouldering Iwaizumi, laughing at Iwaizumi’s slurred _‘Fuck you, I ain’t drunk.’_

“You kind of are, Iwaizumi-san,” Shouyou pointed out and tucked himself under Iwaizumi’s right arm. Oikawa’s right arm was already around Iwaizumi’s waist in a lazy, self-assured gesture, as if it belonged. Iwaizumi dropped his head onto Oikawa’s shoulder equally comfortably and Shouyou couldn’t help but think that they fit, that this was only the natural extension of their friendship.

(Except… it wasn’t quite like that, was it?)

In the walk back to their inn, he listened to their friendly banter turn softer, into whispered some things, and it felt like an invisible, untouchable wall, a barrier that Shouyou couldn’t cross. He watched them embroil into one another, exchange words quietly and Shouyou thought that they’d forgotten about him, were it not for the small smiles that Oikawa kept shooting his way or how Iwaizumi adjusted his arm around Shouyou’s shoulders and gave him a brief squeeze on the bicep in apology.

At the inn, Oikawa smiled and asked Shouyou to direct him to Iwaizumi’s room, the same one he was sharing with Daichi and Daichi had already set out Iwaizumi’s futon, which only made it easier for them to tuck Iwaizumi in.

Shouyou almost left after Iwaizumi had slipped into his futon, but out of blatant curiosity he slid out the door and leaned against the shutter after he closed it behind him.

The first thing he heard was the sharp hitch of a breath, followed by watery mumbling and then he realized that Iwaizumi was crying. Shouyou bit down on his own lip, his own sadness manifesting itself and making his vision blurry because, they were a _good_ team. Iwaizumi was an excellent captain, Daichi was a fantastic vice-captain and they’d worked hard together this year to get this far. It wasn’t even the lack of skill, it was just plain bad luck that a receive had hit Nishinoya’s hand wrong and had led to circumstances spiraling out of control.

There were gentle murmurs and the gap in the shutter showed Iwaizumi curled into Oikawa’s chest, his strong shoulders shuddering, and Oikawa’s hand smoothing through Iwaizumi’s hair, whispering promises about taking revenge from Keio on Tohokudai’s behalf.

Shouyou withdrew and lounged out in the hallways, jittered and stewing in his own grief for god knows how long. Eventually, Oikawa found him near the entrance of the inn, catching him discreetly stealing sips of the whisky on him. Oikawa smiled and gave a pointed look at the bottle, and Shouyou sheepishly tucked it away.

“Your beloved Captain is now tucked in and dead asleep,” he offered, sing-song.

“Thanks,” Shouyou said and then his half-drunk brain blurted, “Must be nice though.”

Oikawa turned to blink at him, tucking his hands in the pockets of his sports jersey.

“Dating your best friend,” Shouyou clarified.

Oikawa stiffened before bursting out in shocked laughter, as if Shouyou had related something unbearably funny. Shouyou frowned at the show of mirth, but Oikawa’s amusement was genuine.

“What’s so funny?” Shouyou asked and Oikawa slapped a hand on Shouyou’s shoulder leaning on him briefly.

“I’m not dating Iwa-chan,” he told him, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, “He’s just my best friend.”

Shouyou fought the urge to recoil. Unbidden, he thought about the smile, about Iwaizumi’s intent tone and _Never fall in love with your best friend_. He looked at the expression on Oikawa’s face – thoroughly amused, as if the very idea was a massive joke.

“Besides, Chibi-chan,” Oikawa said, flapping a hand, “I already have a girlfriend.”

Shouyou unstuck his mouth. “Oh. Sorry for presuming.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Oikawa waved it away, “I must leave though. We _do_ have a match tomorrow.”

“Best of luck, Oikawa-san,” Shouyou offered and Oikawa grinned at him, flashing a quick victory sign.

“Come cheer for us, alright?”

“Alright,” Shouyou said and he watched the man leave, self-assured, his head held high. It wasn’t like his swagger was misplaced in any way – Oikawa _had_ been scouted for next year’s Worlds as their second setter and the Chuo jersey he was wearing under his jacket had an underscored ‘1’ on it. In so many ways, Shouyou still felt like a sixteen year old and awed by this brunet who seemed to work magic on the court, still so unbearably cool.

He’d then ducked back into his room and he’d unfurled his futon close to Tobio’s, watching his chest rise and fall, watching his eyes flutter in REM sleep. Shouyou’s fingers glanced across a cheek, dark stubble roughening the skin, before curling into a fist and drawing it close to his chest, where his heart was jack-knifing violently.

He thought about the way Iwaizumi had looked, thought about that god-awful smile, and he wondered if this was what awaited him.

At present, Shouyou watches the sun, now making a semi-circle as half of it still appears to be buried within the clouds. Iwaizumi lifts his camera and takes another picture.

Iwaizumi doesn’t know about the events of that night. Perhaps the alcohol had done him a mercy and granted him amnesia. Shouyou is still not sure if it was a real mercy or not, given that the secrets of Iwaizumi’s heart had set in motion the process of clarity in regards to Shouyou’s own emotions.

In some ways, Shouyou wishes he was still ignorant, but it’s futile. He’d been running headlong into it ever since Tobio had first shown up at Karasuno and the first seeds had already been sown only months later, as they learned to work in sync, as they filed down their jagged edges into curves that could fit against each other more comfortably; comfortable to the point that they’d somehow graduated to garner the title of best friends.

Partnerships endure, but only for the equally skilled – this much Shouyou knows. In retrospect, their paths had already begun to diverge when Tobio had been picked for the National Youth camp in their first year, right at the heels of the Spring qualifiers finale, and Shouyou had still naively believed that he could still carve out a place for himself on the court, could still overcome his limitations through sheer hard work.

Somehow, Tobio had begun shouldering their unspoken dream of the world. Somewhere, he’d moved away from his beliefs – _only the strong get to stay on the court_ – because, he hadn’t laughed when Shouyou had failed his qualifiers time after time. He hadn’t said anything like what he’d said in that first match in their last year of middle school – _What have you been doing these last three years_ – because he’d _known_ that Shouyou had tried, known that it wasn’t enough. In fact, Shouyou remembers him distinctly arguing against the coaches when they were twenty one, demanding that he be put in the same team as Shouyou because Shouyou bloomed when precise tosses were made.

Shouyou had desperately wanted to correct him – he bloomed when _Tobio_ was there.

He hadn’t.

Shouyou draws his feet together tighter.

Tobio is hard to love, primarily because he never _tried_ to be loved. Shouyou admires that about him sometimes, commiserates even, but even Shouyou has more tact than him and he sometimes becomes susceptible to social niceties in a way that Tobio doesn’t.

In fact, Shouyou was the one who’d dated through high school, using his new found popularity as a member of the Spring High bound volleyball club to wrangle dates, and in university, dragged away to parties and goukons by Nishinoya. But if he’s being honest, the dates were more a result of this small voice at the back of his head constantly telling him that _maybe_ it wasn’t normal to be this preoccupied with one’s best friend.

And it wasn’t like Tobio wasn’t popular – girls confessed to him too because he _was_ conventionally attractive when he relaxed his face, with his dark, silky hair, eyes like the deep ocean and all tall and lean with a body that was carved out of muscle; but he’d always turn the girls down, stuttering and apologizing the entire time. It made Shouyou hopeful sometimes but, frankly speaking, for Tobio, volleyball was enough.

Volleyball _is_ enough.

Thing is, Shouyou fell – when, he doesn’t know; but the fact remains that he did. The why is a muddled mess too because, truth is, Tobio _is_ hard to love – awkward, tactless, too intense and worse at academics than Shouyou. Sometimes, Shouyou thinks that he must have been first drawn in by the way Tobio looked at him on the court sometimes, eyes shining and the message clear – _I trust you to do this,_ he’d be saying. And, really, it _must_ have been the way Tobio played, the way he looked so utterly focused on court, the way he set the ball on intuition, the way Shouyou sometimes felt like they were _connected_ in some way, their understanding was so utterly complete.

Or, more than that, the way they talked without words, the volleyball that bounced between them acting as their medium.

Some wires must have crossed somewhere but that was most likely where it’d started, Shouyou thinks, because then it’d bled into his daily life and he’d begun noticing the little things. Like, the way he was bad with children, but he tried his best to get along with Natsu. Or the way he was pathologically incapable of smiling that wide, charming smile that Oikawa so often employed, because he never realized that his true smile was tiny and less in the lips, more in the eyes. Or even the way he’d started flipping through his English flashcards during practice breaks after the National Youth camp when they were sixteen because he’d wanted to become fluent enough.

And, hell, it wasn’t even the good, but also the bad and even _they_ were good somehow. Like, how Tobio and he always fought and always competed and always flung taunts and insults at each other, and it was always fierce and fiery and neither of them pulled their punches. It was somehow so _freeing_ to have Tobio know the very depths of Shouyou’s dark thoughts – and Shouyou didn’t even _get_ angry most of the time, because he was only impatient, not short tempered.

Thing is, Tobio is different. He’s not like Izumi or Kouji, or even like Tadashi and Kenma and Hitoka. They’re his close friends, maybe, but they don’t completely understand him the way Tobio does. They don’t get why Shouyou burns like a fire for volleyball, why he wanted the world so much that he was willing to set himself on fire for it, but Tobio does. He’s his best friend, he _knows_ him and he understands life in the terms that Shouyou does.

It might have been difficult to ignore, given that they’d shared the same living space in Sendai, but then Tobio had been recruited for the Men’s Under-23 team as their starting setter, right after his twenty-second birthday – half a year ago – and then all the time in the world had been rendered moot.

Still, Shouyou wonders – _what if_?

“Oikawa doesn’t get nature."

Iwaizumi’s quiet statement jolts Shouyou out of his head and he tears his absent gaze from where it was fixed on the sun – now a yellow circle of light, settled comfortably over the clouds and just above the horizon – and down to the slats of their bench, near Iwaizumi’s knee. He blinks as he parses the statement. Iwaizumi doesn’t voluntarily talk about Oikawa, so Shouyou sits up and listens.

“He’s more of a space guy… well; space _nerd_ might be more accurate.” He continues and his voice is so openly fond, Shouyou swallows. Iwaizumi chuckles, “He still has a scale model of the Milky Way spiral on his bedroom ceiling, done up in glow in the dark decals.”

Shouyou does a double take. “Wait, seriously?!”

Iwaizumi laughs again at Shouyou’s exclamation.

“I know. Can you believe that guy?” he tells him and he sounds just so _tender_ , Shouyou’s heart aches in sympathy, “We used to go stargazing as kids and he used to always tell me that he wanted to be kidnapped by aliens, because he wanted to see the world from up there.”

“Mm,” Shouyou hums and thinks it funny – because Oikawa was already on the top of the world right now, considering that he was the starting setter on the National team going to the Olympics; Tokyo 2020 was just in a couple more months.

“I like the stars too, but I like _this_ more.” Iwaizumi’s jacket rustles when he gestures with one hand.

“I see why,” Shouyou replies, somewhat noncommittal, but mostly because he doesn’t know what to say.

“You want to know why I do it?” Iwaizumi says softly and Shouyou makes a questioning noise in response, now looking at the steady way the sun climbs over the horizon, slowly but surely.

Iwaizumi exhales. “It reminds me that there are things bigger than us, that our lives are not the sum total of existence as a whole.”

This time, Shouyou turns to look at him and Iwaizumi is calm as he watches the horizon, his camera cradled in between his large hands. Something about the way he looks is why Shouyou gets it, why Iwaizumi does it, why he chooses to photograph mountains and landscapes when he can because, it’s like the view – the burgeoning sunrise, the way this great ball of fire sets the horizon aflame and rays of light that snake through the clouds like tendrils – the view has settled something inside him and he has found that quiet corner in his soul, the same one he used to look for before every match.

“Hinata,” Iwaizumi calls and he isn’t looking at Shouyou at all, he’s still fixed on the horizon, “I brought you here because I wanted to tell you that.”

There’s a lump in Shouyou’s throat and it’s difficult to talk around it because now he’s reminded about the circumstances that led up to it; it being Iwaizumi harshly telling Shouyou to take a day off and come with him on a job.

“I need you to get it, alright?” Iwaizumi presses and Shouyou thinks that he’s saying this to the both of them.

And, what is there to get? Tobio doesn’t date – that’s what he’d told Shouyou abruptly a couple of weeks ago, as Shouyou had set before him a plate of pork curry he’d just taken off the cooking range, and Shouyou wasn’t sure what he was saying, till Tobio was _looking_ at him and repeating it, enunciating it in a way that meant that he wanted Shouyou to understand something.

To soften the blow, Tobio could’ve been a little more careful, could’ve prettied up his words. But, in a way that was so completely typical of him, he hadn’t. He’d just rent the words from his throat and simultaneously made whatever little hope Shouyou had ever held dry up entirely. There were so many things Shouyou could’ve said to convince him – _Give me a chance to prove it to you_ or _I can make you happy_ or even _We can work, I know it_ – but.

But.

It’s just that, Shouyou has fought and lost against the world so many times, even _he_ didn’t trust himself to carry out any of those promises.

If he were younger, he might have said them with utter confidence, the same confidence that had convinced Tobio otherwise in the past. The point stood – he wasn’t sixteen anymore. He was twenty two, about to turn twenty three in the next week, and he wasn’t on the National team like he’d envisioned. The dream to stand on the court the longest had morphed to include Tobio so viscerally, that’s exactly why Shouyou had tried and fought, begged the world to look at him and see the things he could do.

Except… except facts _can’t_ be changed, Shouyou can’t magically gain a couple of inches overnight, he can’t squeeze more power from his body like the rest of them and he most certainly can’t turn off his feelings – _years_ ’ worth of them – like one does a faucet. So he’d nodded, muttered a quiet little okay, and then sat down on the chair opposite to Tobio and tried to choke down his food in tense silence. Tobio had thanked him for the meal and he’d, uncharacteristically – because Tobio didn’t do physical affection like Shouyou did – pressed Shouyou to his chest and mumbled a barely audible apology before leaving.

What could Shouyou do? He’d showed up at Iwaizumi’s apartment at midnight, after his wandering had led him to Saitama and he’d wanted a place to sleep and Iwaizumi happened to be the closest. Iwaizumi had taken one look at him and broken out his good single malt – a bottle of Miyagikyo his ex-teammates Hanamaki and Matsukawa had gotten for him at his graduation – and Shouyou still isn’t precisely sure _what_ he’d said, but it must have been something incriminating, considering the way that Iwaizumi had looked at his hungover self the next morning and not made a single crack about drinking way past his limits when he obviously can’t handle it.

So, Shouyou thinks – does he get it?

He looks back at the horizon where the sun has grown larger and risen further and painted the rolling clouds below a dusty rose. He listens to the excited chatter from the people around them and feels the mountain air toss the exposed curls of his hair around. Clearly, the world doesn’t change or stop when Shouyou’s does, and, now, he’s only more aware of how narrow a human’s world view can be.

“I don’t,” Shouyou tells Iwaizumi with a hiccup, “I don’t get it.”

He’s aware of a hand coming to rest on the top of his head. The fingers are chilled from the cold; Shouyou can feel them through his toque, through his thick hair. They’re weighty and Shouyou distinctly recognizes the wordless gesture as the way Iwaizumi used to console him after a loss and silently urged him to look ahead, at the next challenge.

“You need to,” Iwaizumi emphasizes, “So that you can learn to let go.”

Something hot and angry sparks inside Shouyou’s belly at the statement – because, he’s known Tobio and volleyball all of these years and how can he ever let go of what is essentially his _life_? – and he finds the words escaping his throat in an angry hiss.

“Oh, is that what you did, Iwaizumi-san?” he draws back and Iwaizumi’s hand drops away from his head, “Because, as far as I know, you haven’t even _confessed_.”

A couple of beats pass when he realizes what he’s said and, more, who he’s said it to. He doesn’t back down the way he would have when he was younger and still scared of this angry man, the permanent scowl etched in his face eclipsing a heart of gold. He watches Iwaizumi bristle and Shouyou expects a lot of things, anger being on the top of the list.

Instead, Iwaizumi turns to Shouyou and he _smiles_.

“Why would I ever do that?” Iwaizumi says, lips turning up at a corner and his tone is calm, the air of a man who has made his peace with the matters of his heart, “I’ve always been prepared to let him go.”

Shouyou stares; there’s little else he can do.

Iwaizumi turns back to the sun, his thumb trailing absently over the mode dial on his camera. He pulls at the corner of his mouth with his teeth before continuing.

“Hinata,” he starts, still calm and so utterly reasonable, Shouyou fights down the urge to scream, “He’s never been mine to keep; I’ve always known that. And it’s not like he doesn’t know how I feel. He must. He’s my best friend, he knows me better than anyone else. I’m okay with letting him go.”

“ _Why?_ ” Shouyou hates how he sounds, raw and wrecked.

Iwaizumi exhales, deep and cleansing.

“Because, despite everything, he always comes back to me.”

“But not the way you want him to.” Shouyou argues and his voice is breaking but he doesn’t care, “Why, just… why are you being so reasonable about this?! Why aren’t you angry?! Why, Iwaizumi-san?”

“I need to be reasonable,” Iwaizumi replies in a low, persuasive whisper, “Because things don’t always work out. Life is not a storybook and happy endings don’t always happen. It’s just how it is.”

Shouyou doesn’t say anything. Instead, he regards Iwaizumi’s profile, lit up in the faint sunlight, his sharp features softened by the morning and he can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want him – brash and short-tempered maybe, but also gentle and caring, selfless and always thinking about others before himself, giving his all to everyone he knows and unshakeable, like the very foundation of the world. He holds people together even when he is falling apart at the seams and Shouyou feels tears prickling at the corner of his eyes.

Where was the justice in that?

Oikawa Tooru is ten different kinds of a fool. Because Iwaizumi would give him everything, he’d give everything till he was frayed and burned down and even then he’d try; this much Shouyou knows to be true, deep in his bones.

And, Shouyou wanted, wants, will want to do the same for Tobio because, stupid, brash, tactless Tobio deserves the same, deserves the world, the stars and Shouyou wants to get them for him.

Shouyou swallows, but his voice remains hoarse. “It’s not fair.”

“No.” Iwaizumi agrees softly, “It isn’t.”

Shouyou leaves his pack leaning against his perch and gets up, turning away just as Iwaizumi raises his camera to settle into the familiar motion of the point and click. Shouyou walks away from the sunset and towards the _torii_ near him. People are taking photographs around him, laughing and chattering, beholding in the dawn of a new day.

The sun is still rising and it resembles the pale yellow ball that everyone draws as a child, right down to the rays of light radiating outwards from the bright center.  Shouyou stands under the _torii_ , now with only a couple who are taking photographs and he stretches his arms wide, closing his eyes and feeling both the faint light and the biting cold mountain wind.

He may be an optimist but that doesn't mean he gets what Iwaizumi is talking about, not completely. But he does understand the sentiment and he wants to let go... only, not yet. Baby steps would have to suffice. Like, he may ask out Hitoka's bubbly little friend Yuki next week. He may not count out the days till Tobio's matches end. He may not ask what Tobio wants for lunch or even if he'd want to come to Shouyou's tiny little apartment on a rest day.

And, maybe, he'll learn to love Tobio a little less fiercely.

Shouyou settles his arms by his side but he keeps his eyes closed, just focusing on keeping his breathing even and his tears in.

When he turns around finally, the sun has now lightened the sky from an azure to a cheery celeste blue. Iwaizumi is standing off to a side, with his hands tucked in his pocket and their backpacks by his feet, watching the people starting their trek down.

"Ready to go?" Iwaizumi says when Shouyou draws level with him and Shouyou nods, shouldering his pack and moving to follow the people on the trail.

Hiking down is a quick affair and they’re quiet all the way down, with Iwaizumi only breaking to take photographs of the trail, the people descending at a steady pace and, mostly, the roiling, thick clouds and the greenery extending below the mountain. It’s not as tiring as going up was and the view is a hell of a lot better in the light of day – the sea of clouds that crowd around Fuji is awe inspiring in its beauty. The descent still leaves Shouyou sore and makes him feel like he could collapse where he stood and sleep for a week.

Iwaizumi only pauses once at the post office to drop off the postcard he’d picked up on his way up – the clichéd view of Mount Fuji and cherry blossoms – and he smiles when he tells Shouyou that it’s for Oikawa, because Oikawa loves postcards and Iwaizumi makes it a point to send him one from wherever he goes. Shouyou watches him write out the address and a short message with a borrowed pen in sloppy kanji, a faint smile on his lips and Shouyou thinks that he’d like to learn that one day, to be content with what he doesn’t have.

They take a bus down, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Shouyou taking the window seat, looking out at the sights. Iwaizumi flips through his photographs quietly, and they sit like that till the reach the foot of the mountain and take the subway home.

When they part, Iwaizumi pulls Shouyou into his side wordlessly and rubs his shoulder, comforting.

“You’re stronger than this,” he whispers, so confident, Shouyou almost believes him.

“I’m not.”

“You _are_.” Iwaizumi stresses, “And if you dare to think otherwise, I’ll punch you.”

A laugh bubbles out of Shouyou’s chest despite himself.

Iwaizumi jumps off on his stop, throwing a quick wave over his shoulder and walks away, head held high and so sure of his place in the world, Shouyou can’t help but feel a little jealous. Time heals all wounds, he’s heard this, and maybe Shouyou can be like this too, someday.

He can only hope.

*

Two weeks later, a package arrives at Shouyou’s doorstep and it’s a 16’’ by 12’’ photograph, framed in a plain, no-nonsense black wood frame. It’s the _torii_ on top of Mount Fuji, the sun perfectly in the middle of the two _shiimaki_ , and a sea of frothy white clouds extending over the horizon and the sky a celeste blue and lined with pink in places and it throws everything in the foreground in shadows. In the middle, right beneath the _torii_ , is a small shadowed figure with its arms extended on either side of it, very akin to a bird spreading its wings prior to taking flight.

With a start, Shouyou realizes that it’s _him._

A note is affixed on the back, with the same sloppy kanji that he recognizes as Iwaizumi’s and it says: “ _A reminder that you don’t need anyone to reach the top of the world._ ”

Shouyou keeps it on a _chabudai_ next to his papers and files and Tobio asks him about it once when he visits on a free day – months after and they’re mostly interacting as normal. Shouyou fingers the edge of it with a smile.

“A reminder,” he offers and Tobio scoffs with a roll of his eyes and goes “Why are you so weird,” and then laughs when Shouyou punches his side, saying “Wow, you’d really hurt an Olympian?”

Here, when Shouyou throws his head back and laughs, he believes that he’ll be fine.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, this was hard to write. It certainly inspired me to watch the sunrise from Mt. Fuji once in my lifetime though... [it's just so beautiful](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOAoGhKlprE). I don't write KageHina but this fic just begged for it. And, of course, since I am IwaOi trash, I had to throw them in because _reasons_.
> 
> The romantic in me is itching to resolve this and make it a happy ending. I have written up a couple of snapshots of this 'verse but, weirdly enough, things ended up with more IwaOi moments than KageHina ones. Oops. I might post it once I have finished up things... but I want this to work as a standalone too. Ughhh, the conflict. (ó﹏ò｡)
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading!


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